Evening at the Bar
by Sanura
Summary: A band plays at a party in Downbelow


Spoilers for the end of thrid season. 

Evening at the Bar by Sanura 

"Oh lighten up, Mic. It won't be that bad." I gave Tom my best "yeah right" look, and concrated on looking calm and in control. In this part of Downbelow it can be dangerous, even deadly, to look out of place. I kept my eyes moving around the corredor, to the left of us there were about five drunken Drazi. It seemed like they were all staring at me; I pulled my guitar case closer, from the way they were staring you'd think they'd never seen a human female before. Tom seemed oblivious to everything around him, but he didn't miss a thing. He was like that; he could be up on stage singing his heart out, and still hunt down anyone who looked like they'd enjoyed our singing after we were done. Which was a good thing considering he was our manager. Though after seeing the condition of our latest set up I was considering fireling him. The place was the most run down bar I've seen this far from Centuari Prime. There was a sign outside the entrance that might have once said "Hyperspacial Brainbash." The chairs were old storage crates, and the stage, if a large sheet of metal could be called that, was also held up by them. They only thing that was used for it's intended porpose was the bar itself, and even that had numerous dents and scrapes in it, as if it had seen one too many drunken Minbari. I could also see several people selling what had to be dust at a back table; that didn't surprise me, I hadn't seen any security guards for about 5 minutes, and I'd be surprised if anyone but the Chief came down this far. Still looking around I reminded myself that if we didn't play here we might end up LIVING someplace like this. With the Shadow War going on no one wants to hire a good band for anything. The worse part is things aren't looking any better for the the rest of the universe; Captain Shariden has gone off to Z'Ha'dum, and all the aliens say he must be dead. And now Chief Garibaldi has been missing for two days. Luckily for us the big time gang leaders and smugglers haven't had time to speed up their plans. Tom walked over to the bar to announce us and see if our pay had changed, while the rest of us walked over to the stage and started setting up. I plugged my guitar into the small amplifer I was carring, and tuned it up. The familar task helped me calm down and begin to act like myself again. My things set up I walked over to help Dev put up his drums. I don't think I'll ever figure out how he manages to carry his entire set all over the station with out complaining or loosing anything. "What's the gig, Michelle?" I shrugged and blushed a bit, Dev's the only one who calles my by my whole name, and somehow when he says it my name doesn't sound as stupid as usual. "I don't know. Tom said it was some kind of party... The kind security doesn't really like." He nodded knowenly, and made some small adjustments to the position of his instruments. I checked on Jan, our female lead singer; she was actually helping Wes put up his keyboard. Good. She's too full of herself for her own good; it'd take more self-control then I have to keep from punching her if she made poor Wes do everything, again. Wes is slightly telepathic, and places like this bothered him more then me. He once told me that when people have taken too many drugs their minds feel like when you're leaving hyperspace but haven't gotten into real space yet, sort of in-between and no where. Tom walked up to us smiling like a Cheshire cat. "He's paying us 6 credits an hour until everyone drops." We all smiled broadly, that was more then we thought we'd get. "We'll start with "Violet", Jan, see if you can't stay with me this time." Jan glared at him, but I only nodded. 20th century music, you gotta love it. I'm glad Tom agreed that we could play mostly that kind. I was the only one who'd studied this or gone to the school here for any length of time at all, so I was afraid he'd throw it out thinking the stuff was over the audience's head. After our second song I could see the harder and less watered down achocol, dust, and other drugs being passed around. Under the warm spotlights I shivered. I hope the Chief comes back soon; these people definately need help. I've turned dealers in before. The Chief was really nice about it too, he didn't give out my name or make me testify or anything. I've saved the band a couple of times from the money I've gotten as reward for turning those guys in. No one ever asks, and I wouldn't mind if the entire group of partiers was turned in. But I couldn't be the one to do it; some people out there hardly ever come out in public, and it'd be a bit obvious who turned them in. In one corner a group of drunk Pak'ma'ra were saying something in their own language; the only words I could catch were "good-bye" and "security." Sometime after midnight a guy stood up on one of the tables. He was so drunk it took him five tries to get up there, and I would be surprised if he knew the station was still spinning. "Ate-ention!" The room quieted, and we stopped playing. "I'd like to-thank yoush guysh for comming." The crowd cheered, knowing they wre being talked about. "And I'd-like to thank Sheshurity Chieff Gary Baldi. May he like and shtay where he ish." It was a while after the cheering stopped before we could start playing again. 

All done!! Woo hoo! I finished my second story! Did this one work? And is the drunk too understandable? Not understandible enough? Feedback is much needed. Oh yeah. I don't own any of this. Babylon 5 is owned by JMS, TNT, Babylonian productions, and a bunch of other people. The song "Violet" is off the Savage Garden CD (I couldn't find a title) and that is owned by Sony Music Entertainment Inc. and Columbia Records. Thanks to Ani for the bar name...you know who you are... And just as a little side note I do NOT do drugs. I let my parents read this and they got a little worried. So just so you know. 


End file.
